


The Stench Of Hope Lost

by SarkaS



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fear, Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Not Beta Read, POV Stiles, Paralysis, Russian Roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7131527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarkaS/pseuds/SarkaS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling prompt: STEREK Russian Roulette - Stiles & Derek are terrified for each other's life .. Such a cruel game .. <3<3 (anonymous)</p>
<p>Anon, you’re very very cruel person. I like you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stench Of Hope Lost

The empty click resonates in the small room.

Stiles wants to breathe out with relief, but there is none. This just makes everything a little worse. He watches Derek put the gun back down on the little table between them. It's an old one, with scratches and stains he tries to ignore. Not that it works.

The room is dark and almost empty, filled with hot air and a stench of horror. Stiles can see the sweat on Derek’s forehead, pearling in his eyebrows. He mocked those eyebrows so many times in the past few years. But remembering those times now seems like a sacrilege.

Every bit of happiness those memories hold feels wrong here. Because there is not going to be any after this.

Everything at this situation is wrong, actually. So wrong it makes Stiles nauseous. But it doesn’t stop his hand from stretching out and curling around the gun. It’s heavy in his palm and it takes an effort to put it next to his head.

He can see the panic in Derek’s eyes and it tears him apart. Can Derek hear Stiles’ heart? Beating strongly, erratically, like a captured animal knowing it’s going to die?

He pulls the trigger with someone else’s will. Another empty click.

Stiles can feel a tear rolling down, almost caressing the skin of his cheek. It’s not with relief like he can see in Derek’s expression, it’s fear so great it steals his breath away. It suffocates him, makes him even weaker and his thoughts more shattered.

He puts the gun back in the middle of the table. Slowly, stretching their suffering as much as their hope.

Small hope. Almost non-existent. Stiles doesn’t believe someone will find them in time anymore. How could they? No one knows. That thing- that witch - or whatever it is - made sure of it. And they can do nothing. How could they? They don’t even have control over their own bodies.

Stiles’ eyes are glued to Derek’s hand grasping the gun and slowly lifting it to his head.

There are words in Stiles' chest, trying to tear their way out, but failing over and over. Pleads. Confessions. Threats. Goodbyes.

He can see Derek’s finger slowly moving towards the trigger and he is screaming. No one hears it, but he’s so loud inside his head it deafens him. Still, he doesn’t miss that silent empty click. His lips want to form a relieved smile, but can’t. It would be such a contrast with that look of pure horror in Derek’s eyes. In the end, he’s just screaming some more. There is only silence surrounding them.

This time, he isn’t looking at his hand, when it moves towards the gun. He’s watching Derek. Trying to absorb every little detail he can. Every little brown spot in his grayish-green eyes, his long lashes, and curve of lips he never tried to kiss, because in the end he’s only a huge coward. He will never be whispering confessions into them, no matter how this ends. That possibility is not in his future anymore, and that on its own is killing him.

Cold metal against his skin makes him shiver internally. He wants to close his eyes, picture everything he’s never going to have, but he can’t. It’s Derek across from him. Living and breathing and he needs, he needs to see him.

Seconds are disappearing into oblivion, and his finger is moving so so slowly towards the trigger. Stiles can’t prevent the terror showing in his eyes. There is a tear falling, hiding in the darkness of Derek’s stubble.

It takes only a little pressure, the softest touch.

Empty click.

There is a smile in Derek’s eyes, now. Stiles wants to hit him. Hit him and hug him and hide him from the world. Keep him safe and sound. Make him happy and grateful for being alive. Make him want to be alive and then keep him by his side forever.

Instead, he’s putting the gun on the table and then hides his hand under it next to the other. Waiting like a peaceful statue.

Stiles' eyes burn with sweat and tears. With regrets and moments, he’s never going to live through. His whole being hurts with Derek sitting so close but out of grasp. With Derek reaching for the gun. He wants to lash out, grab Derek’s hand and throw that damn gun as far as he can, but there is nothing either of them can do against magic biding their bodies. Making them obey. Stiles can only watch.

Gun rising. Derek’s eyes filled with relief. Shadow of a smile in them that makes Stiles want to scream and cry and tear the whole world to bits.

There is a noise. And voices. And things Stiles can’t see, because he can’t turn his head. But he can see Derek’s eyes widen with sudden hope. But nothing changes, he still can’t move and Derek's finger is still moving towards the trigger. Stiles wants to scream, to warn anyone, to beg for help, tell them to hurry, to stop it, but he can’t.

Hope changes into terror and Stiles is crying.

Derek’s finger curls around the trigger and the helplessness kills Stiles just as the bullet would. He can only watch. Binding Derek’s eyes to his, thinking 'look at me, look at me!' with everything he has. He can’t let Derek be alone. He can’t close his eyes.

The sound of a gunshot resonates in the room, making Stiles' head ring with the echo. His eyes are closed. He couldn’t stop it. And he knows, that if there is one thing he never wants to do again, it’s to open them. But he does. God, he does.

And he sees Peter. Holding his nephew’s hand, gun pointing just a few inches next to his head. There is a hole in the wall. And he sees Derek. Alive. Eyes wide and disbelieving.

And then Stiles is crying. Sobbing. Falling from the chair to the ground like a puppet no longer in the puppeteer’s control. There are arms around him, and stubble brushing back of his neck, and scent he knows so well filling his nose.

Stiles is gripping soft leather in his fists, pushing himself into that warm body, and he knows there is no way he’ll let go. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published on my tumblr http://were-dragon.tumblr.com/post/99005396783


End file.
